TIMEWALL SPEAKS

In Robinson’s latest novel, a parolee struggles to forge a new life for himself in his decaying rural hometown.

Bilbo is a fictional small town situated somewhere on the Appalachian Trail. It has just one street, known to the locals as “Only Street,” and is the kind of place those passing through look forward to seeing in their rearview mirrors. Timewall Speaks has just been released from prison after serving two and a half years for stealing a beer. Although a seemingly minor misdemeanor, his parole officer delights in reminding him that his buddy had a gun, making it a felony, and Timewall “popped” the cop that came to arrest them. Returning to Bilbo, Timewall moves in with his mother, Blaize, a straight-talking hellcat who hangs out with bikers. He is sent to work at a car wash run by Roger Qualls, whom Timewall has detested since high school. Forced to accept less than minimum wage, the parolee is eager to find a way out of the dead-end job, whereas Roger is keen to settle a vendetta and help send Timewall back to prison. Timewall steals and restores an old vending machine from the car wash storeroom and sets it up in the woods, catering to hikers on the Appalachian Trail. He is astonished at how much money the machine makes him. A twist of fate also sees him return to school to study; but Bilbo’s shady underworld of drugs and corruption holds the power to ruin his progress.

Themes explored by Robinson in previous works—hiking, rural Appalachia, and escaping confining realities—intersect here with varying degrees of success. The author remains a master at building elaborately described worlds populated by psychologically believable characters. With stunning attention to detail, the novel transports the reader directly to the grubby parole office: “The desk was gray metal, rusty scratches, the paint worn at the corners from ages of passing hips.” A shrewd description of Buster, the parole officer, is an intentionally uncomfortable close-up, serving to emphasize the character’s suffocating demeanor: “Buster’s pate was as pink as undercooked chicken, his prickly face slick with some kind of lotion.” In his afterword, Robinson acknowledges that “there could be much to offer offense” in this novel. Certainly, Blaize’s blatant racism regarding President Barack Obama’s leaving office would verify the author’s statement: “At least we got that nigger out of there.” Robinson argues that “some offensive material” was necessary “to set the tone,” stating that “the world of the rural poor is not a pretty place.” Some readers will find such elements of the novel uncomfortable, whereas others may feel that Robinson is unfairly stereotyping a specific strata of rural society. In Timewall, Robinson has created a character that the reader hopes will find a better life—which makes for mildly compelling reading. But the book is snail-paced, and despite being beautifully descriptive, many will grow bored waiting for something significant to happen.

An evocative, sometimes-shocking novel that’s slow to unfold.